“You have been stealin’ turkeys out of these traps,” accused the voice. “Answer, haven’t you, Amos?”
“Yes, I have.”
“When was you here last?”
“Thursday night.”
“Then it was you fired on Boy McTavish when he surprised you?”
“No, I swear I didn’t.”
“You’re lyin’. Mates, get the fire ready.”
“Hol’ on, devils. I’m speakin’ the truth. I didn’t fire on Boy. I was scared and my rifle went off by accident. It wasn’t p’inted his way at all—I swar it.”
The yellow glow of fire came flickering through the chinks in the logs.
“What air you doin’?” cried the wretch in the trap in agonizing voice.